Thunderdome 20XX
by Le Penguin
Summary: Mikasa and Historia duel for the title of biggest lesbian in the 104th in the traditional arena: a chicken wing eating contest.


Historia was tittering so blithely after her remark. Did she truly believe such a vile and false statement?

"Oh, well. Mikasa may have the edge in titan-killing, but I guess I'll just have to be satisfied with being the gayest girl in the 104th."

Such shameless self-aggrandizing lies would not be tolerated. Mikasa barreled up from her seat, maintaining eye-contact with Historia to assert dominance. Historia kept her gaze, steadily.

So she truly meant to challenge Mikasa for the illustrious title of Big Lesbian on Campus. Her courage was admirable, but if courage was the truly the sum of what Historia intended to challenge Mikasa with, she would simply be permitted to perish on her feet instead of her knees.

Seated beside her, Armin handed Mikasa a glove. Mikasa graciously took it and smacked Historia across the face with it.

"Your challenge has been accepted. We binge upon chicken wings at dawn."

Historia touched her reddening cheek, and dared a cocky smile.

There was no better coach than Armin – he, of course, was peerless in his title as the gayest boy of the regiment, and had effortlessly annihilated any pathetic challengers that feebly grasped at the hem of his rippling dressing gowns. There was also no stricter coach than Armin, but this whip-cracking discipline was what Mikasa needed to defend her crown.

"Faster! C'mon, pick up those knees! I expect more from my co-ruler!"

Mikasa grunted and picked up the pace as she dragged titan-form Eren behind her with a rope tied around her abs. It was true – she had gotten complacent, and her form had suffered. Eren whuffled through his nose as he was dragged faster. He continued to nuzzle Armin with his cheek, who was seated in his hands, yelling encouragement at Mikasa through a megaphone. Their flagrant homosexuality lent strength to Mikasa, and she felt her heart fill with determination to keep her title.

Dawn broke, and the challengers met in the chicken wing arena. The crown was at stake, and they were prepared to fight to the death for honor, glory, and poon.

Armin, dressed in his full regalia as Big Gay on Campus, rose his signal flare to the skies. He fired a plume of rainbow smoke, and shouted.

"Begin!"

They began. Gnashing teeth and the sounds of splitting meat reminded Mikasa of their shared battlefields, where they had supported each other with sword and cape – as they consumed wing after wing, Mikasa began to think: were they truly enemies? Did it need to be like this? She did not wish to battle her own comrades. The world was so cruel, and so beautiful, and what was the point to it all if there were not others to share it with?

But then, the unthinkable happened. Oh, it was well-known that the venerable contest known as the Wing-Off had more than just wings to challenge with – as its challengers gorged themselves, the arena would spontaneously manifest its contestants' deepest desires to test their resolve in completing their trial. Mikasa had prepared for the worst: a vision of the outside, a cozy little cottage by the seas, watching serenely as Armin gathered shells and Eren paddled safely in a plastic pool with appropriate flotation devices attached to every limb. A vision of piles of barbells, emblazoned with her name. A vision of her mother and father, safe and sound.

But Mikasa had not prepared for this.

Annie confidently strode into the arena, clad in spandex workout clothes. She flexed her bicep. Then, sidling a smirk at Mikasa, she slapped the muscle. Mikasa nearly choked as she watched it jiggle. Lewd. Foul and lewd and she would not be swayed. She had to focus. Focus on snarfing down more wings. Focus not on Annie taking a drink from her water bottle, missing her mouth just slightly, causing the water to dribble down her throat, her chest, her abs. Mikasa swallowed hard.

Annie produced an iron crowbar from nowhere, and casually crushed it between her thighs. Mikasa collapsed to the ground instantly. She had failed.

And yet, as she lay in a bloated, sauce- and tear-streaked mess on the arena floor, she saw Historia across from her, equally defeated. Surprised, she struggled to pick up her head, trying to see what had felled her opponent.

Ymir stumbled drunkenly to the wing table. She scratched her crotch and belched loud, then picked up a half-eaten wing from Historia's plate and messily began to eat it.

"Ssssss'likie…that indirect kiss shit…y'know? Ughhh, I shouldnta drank that fuckin' thing of that shit last ni—HUUUUURK!"

And then, Ymir was emptying her stomach into the wing bone trash can. Mikasa questioned Historia's kinks, but did not doubt her sincerity or devotion to her cause.

Armin approached the fallen contestants, smiling magnanimously. "Arise. You have passed the Wing Arena's test of character. Truly, only those with the true gay in their hearts could be distracted so quickly."

Armin tilted his head to the side. "Mikasa? What say you to sharing your crown?"

Mikasa gazed at Historia. Historia quietly wept, clearly horny due to Ymir's general proximity and clearly wanting to dunk Ymir's head in the garbage can she was puking into at the same time.

"M'fine. Just keep the crown and title. She's not getting her pussy eaten for the next week anyway," Historia said, weakly.

Ymir continued to vomit into the trash can, but also started crying at this statement.

And as Mikasa leapt upon Annie to suplex her into a submission hold, she knew that she had discovered the true meaning of the Wing Arena.


End file.
